The Smutty Clouds of Heaven
by Llewellwyn Mephistopheles III
Summary: The various misadventures of Dean and Cas for a more mature audience. See Fluffy Clouds of Heaven for a more "T" experience.
1. Pen Fetish

"Dean."

The hunter in question glanced up from the television. "What's up, Cas?"

"I have located another demon killing weapon."

He had the hunter's attention. Dean sat up. "Seriously? Where'd you hear that?"

The angel conjured a map onto the hotel table. He tapped it with a finger, emphasizing the importance of the coordinates as he voiced them to Dean. He wasn't sure why visual aids were necessary, but he had learned that humans tended to benefit from them. "Here, Dean. 41.6, -107.3."

Dean leaned over the map, peering at the locale. "You're sure it's there?"

"Yes."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Christ, Cas. How do you know this isn't some crack lead? Are you sure it's… wait, what is it?"

"It is a demon killing knife."

The hunter let out a low whistle. "What were the coordinates?"

"41.6, -107.3."

Dean grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper. Cas watched, eyes glued to the writing utensil. He watched the end of it bob and swivel as Dean gripped it, smearing ink across the paper in the formation of letters. The pen seemed to sit perfectly in the man's tanned fist, the blue body cradled in the saddle of tender flesh between Dean's thumb and forefinger. The angel unconsciously licked his lips.

Dean looked up from his scribbling. "And you're sure this is legit?"

"Yes." Castiel was only half listening to Dean. The hunter, while peppering the angel with questions, had stuck the pen in his mouth. As he spoke he periodically chewed on the end, the very tip sliding between his full lips. He tapped it against his teeth, once, twice. He rotated the pen, the cap dipping into his mouth to be gripped by his teeth as he pulled it off. Dean wrote something else in the margins of the map and continued to speak, but Cas wasn't listening. He watched transfixed as Dean's tongue slid along the cap when he spoke, pressing against it ever so slightly and pulling away.

"Cas? Cas."

The angel returned to himself as Dean waved a hand in front of his face. "Yes."

Dean grinned. "You haven't been listening to a word I'm saying, have you?"

"I… I must go." The angel felt an uncomfortable stirring below.

"Whoa, whoa. Hold up, Ace. Why in such a hurry to leave? Tell me more about this magic knife you found," Dean said.

"I cannot. I am needed elsewhere." As the angel made to leave, his patented trench coat caught on the back of a chair. His tented pants were abruptly exposed to all occupants of the room. Namely, Dean. The hunter paused, eyes flickering between Castiel's nether regions and his face.

"Awkward," Dean laughed.

"My… my apologies," the angel stuttered. He tried to make a run for the door, but the fabric of his slacks created a friction that sent all sorts of sensations shooting up his spine. Effectively, it rooted the angel to the spot.

"Whoa, Cas. Hold up, man. You can't just go waving that thing around. You'll hurt somebody."

"Dean. This is not the time for humor. I am… rather indisposed."

"Yeah," the hunter smirked. "I can see that."

Castiel blushed and looked away.

"At least hide it with your coat, dude. Less awkward that way."

Castiel hurriedly gathered the folds of his trench coat about himself. It did little to diminish his embarrassment and the awkward stirring in his loins.

"Much better," Dean said. "Just hide it till you're alone then finish the job on your own time."

The angel wasn't exactly sure what Dean meant, but he chose to suffer no longer. Returning to himself he took his leave and mojo'ed himself out of the room.


	2. Angel Buttocks

**A/N: Please bare with us, this is the first M stuff we've written and only have a vague notion as to what we are doing. Review and tell us what you like and what you do not.**

Dean moseyed into the motel room. Beer in one hand and lunch in the other, he spared the room only a passing glance as he turned to shut the door. The second time his eyes swept the room, he noticed the naked man standing in the middle of it. He dropped his food and drew his gun, fixing the stranger with a steely stare.

Wait, didn't he know that ass?

The man turned and his blue eyes lit up. "Dean. I was waiting for you."

"Yeah," he huffed, stowing his gun. "I get that. But why are you naked, Cas? Not that I'm complaining…"

Cas looked down, taking in his lack of clothing. "It was a minor angelic spat, Dean."

Dean stepped forward to be nose to nose with him, invading Cas' space. His fingers wormed their way into the angel's dark hair. He traced lazy circles at the nape of the shorter man's neck. "Must have been one hell of a spat," Dean said. He leaned forward and briefly brushed his lips against Cas'. The angel leaned forward, wanting to deepen the kiss but Dean evaded him. He ran a hand down Cas' spine, taunting the angel and feeling him shiver.

"They were… singed in the battle…" Cas gritted.

Dean smiled darkly and moved in for a proper kiss. He ran teasing fingers down Cas' sides, denying him physical sensation where he wanted it most. He nipped Cas' bottom lip, harder than the angel was expecting. The shorter man flinched slightly. Dean barely gave him time to recover before grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling roughly. Nibbling his way across Cas' jaw, Dean licked the shell of his ear. "Cas," he whispered.

"Yes?" The angel quivered, hands splayed across Dean's shoulders.

"_I'm_ the only one that gets to undress you."


	3. Pen Fetish 2

Dean stared at the spot Castiel had occupied mere moments before. He shook his head and let his smirk fade. The poor angel was probably embarrassed, aroused and confused. Dean hadn't missed Cas' expression of patented, angelic ignorance when he'd mentioned Cas should take care of his erection 'on his own time'. Castiel could raise Dean from the dead, defeat armies of demons, fly and do other angelic shit. Yet, when it came to basic human (which Cas kind of was now) needs, the man-angel was completely clueless. Dean would laugh if he wasn't concerned for Cas' health. The last thing Dean wanted was for Cas to be crotchety and uptight like Sam because he wasn't cleaning the pipes often enough.

He tossed the pen on the table and went to flop on the bed. The sasquatch would be back soon enough and they could talk demon knife logistics then. Until that point, Dean fully intended to log some time on the boob tube and down a nice, cold beer.

The motley trio spent the next few days discussing the demon knife. Cas seemed intent upon ignoring his embarrassment the previous day, though Dean doubted he could add to his awkwardness if he tried. But as the days passed, Dean began to notice an interesting change in Castiel. Every time the hunter picked up a pen—hell, anytime Cas went _near_ a pen—the angel sort of seized up, like a string pulled taut. It first happened when Dean was jotting down Sam's order for takeout. It happened again when he grabbed a pen to scribble a list of stuff he needed to buy for the Impala. Noticing a pattern, Dean soon found excessive reasons to fiddle with pens and write shit down. He scribbled song lyrics, doodled, defaced and wrote on every available surface whenever Cas was around. Every time he touched a pen, the angel froze. His eyes went wide, pupils growing, and his lips parted ever so slightly, as if he was trying to calm his breathing.

Dean knew that face. Hardly a stranger to sex and the facial expressions that came with it, he knew the sensations plaguing Cas were of the coital nature.

Sure enough, the angel had a pen fetish.

Dean was having too much fun to let it go. The kinky side of him enjoyed tormenting Cas. He loved watching the small expressions that flickered across Cas' face. Lust, hunger, embarrassment, frustration, innocent confusion; Dean loved them all. Pens became a common accessory for him. He chewed on them, sucking on the caps and rolling the body between his lips. He twirled them between his fingers. He tortured the angel. All the while he watched with an innocent expression. He wanted to drive the angel crazy. He wanted to force him to that jagged cliff edge and watch as Cas finally took the flailing leap, dragging them both into the hot, sweaty abyss below.

Dean wanted to see what Cas looked like when debauched and thrusting himself into sins of the flesh as the last of his angelic innocence splintered into nothingness.

Maybe Dean had some kinks of his own. But that was hardly the point.

The entire ordeal came to a head a mere three days after Dean discovered Castiel's pen kink. Dean was doing his damndest to shatter the angel. That particular afternoon, Sam was out and Dean sat at the motel table, trusty pen between his fingers. Cas sat on the bed, pretending to watch TV. The hunter knew Cas' eyes were on him. He could feel the heat of the other man's gaze like the fire of an oven. He knew Cas' eyes would be wide, owlish and hungry as he stared at Dean with blown pupils and the heavy heat of lust curling in his gut.

The hunter continued his charade. He had a piece of paper before him and occasionally scribbled a random line from Kashmir. The writing wasn't the point. He brought the pen to his lips, tapping the tip against his bottom lip. He let it rest for a moment, settling it in the small dip there. His tongue darted out and pressed against the tip of the pen, swirling around it for a moment before retreating. He scribbled more nonsense. Again the pen returned to his mouth and Dean licked, nibbled and sucked on the pen like a porn star. The writing utensil would have felt shame if it could. In his periphery, Dean could see Cas was absolutely frozen. The angel's back was stiff as a board. Seemingly innocent, Dean continued his ministrations on the pen and waited with baited breath.

Castiel appeared behind him. Dean hid his smile and jotted another note. He was pretty sure he hadn't written English. At this point, he was beyond words. Anticipation bubbled in his chest and arousal snaked through his veins. He forced himself to play dumb.

He turned to the angel. "Need something, Cas?"

In a rush, Dean found himself thrown from the chair and pinned to the ground. Castiel loomed over him, his eyes more animal than human or angel. His lips were pink, no doubt he had been licking them raw in anticipation. A strong fist pinned Dean's hand—the one holding the pen—above his head. Their heated breath mingled between them and added to the electric charge dancing across their skin where they touched. Cas' expression was one of wild abandon, a man seized by such powerful lust there was hardly a shade of Castiel left in him.

A thrill rushed through Dean.

"You have been doing this on purpose," Castiel hissed. His tone was heavy, thick with lust and promises of equal punishment and pleasure to come.

"And if I have?" Dean asked. Castiel seemed to be lost, beyond words. Dean scraped his fingernails down the man's scruffy jaw. He rolled his hips against Cas', feeling heat pool in his belly. "What are you going to do about it, Cas? Huh?"

Fiery blue eyes met green ones. Dean pressed his lips to Castiel's in a sloppy, heated, open-mouthed kiss. The angel reciprocated for a moment and suddenly bit down on Dean's lip, hard enough to draw blood. He drew back and found Dean's ear.

"Punishment is warranted," the angel growled.

Dean was on his feet before he could blink. They stood outside the motel, in the alleyway behind it. Castiel pressed Dean against the dirty wall behind him. The angel invaded his space, giving him no room to move, breathe or think. Castiel was everywhere. His hand slid between them and came to rest at Dean's throat, squeezing. Dean gasped, lips parting and Cas dove in for a brutal kiss. A lashing of tongue and teeth, it expressed control as much as lust. Dean lost himself in the moment, reveling in the feeling of this new Cas he had uncovered. He tried to bury his hands in the angel's hair, but Cas pinned his hands against the wall. The rough brick dug into his shoulders through his t-shirt and the cold pressed in against his sides, but he didn't care. He rolled his hips forward, searching for friction and wanting to feel more of Castiel.

In an instant, Cas' hand had left his throat and locked onto his hip. His fingers dug in painfully and Dean could feel a bruise forming.

"On your knees," the angel demanded.

Dean obeyed. Cas unzipped his slacks. With a hand at the back of Dean's head, he guided him forward. Dean took Cas' cock into his mouth. It was deliciously bigger, warmer and harder than the stupid pen Dean had been tormenting Cas with. He began to suck, tongue and jaw working overtime to compensate for the angel's bulk. Cas' fingers dug into Dean's scalp and the hunter let loose a guttural moan. His jaw ached and the dampness from the ground was sinking into his jeans, but he didn't care. Full lips stretched wide, saliva ran down his jaw as he bobbed. With a strangled cry, Castiel came in a heady rush. Dean swallowed him down greedily, licking kittenishly at the tip as Cas pulled away. He dragged Dean upward and pulled him forward for a slow, languid kiss.

Dean lost himself in the slow sensuality of the kiss, the domineering nature of Cas' tongue as he plundered Dean's mouth like he owned it. The angel drew back. His hand found its place at the hollow of Dean's throat. His thumb circled the small dip between the hunter's collarbones. In a flash, it slid upward, resting over Dean's windpipe. Dean felt the familiar painful pressure and it sent a thrill of danger shooting up his spine like a shock. His eyes were glued to Cas'.

"Good boy," Cas murmured. He pressed harder on Dean's throat. "Come for me. Now."

Dean obeyed.


End file.
